Sorry I've taken so long.
Warning: Swearing. Other than that, nothing that the 'T' rating doesn't cover.
Still undecided about potential pairing (if at all), but I've finally plotted out a course for this story. (That was the reason for the delay - I set the stage in extreme detail, but I thought I'd just create a plot on the spot. it doesn't work that way, though. Writer's block galore)
Note: This is still unedited. I haven't submitted it to my beta, Amethystnight88, who's been remarkably patient with me. So, please just read it for content. I'll address grammar later, since I wanted to just get this out there.
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Chapter 7
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"Get up." He opened his eyes, only to meet an amethyst snout. A puff of smoke brushed against his face, making him jerk back. Harry groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to soothe them.
A squeak sounded, and there was a weight leaning against his neck. His dragon. A hum of contentment rang through the wizard's frame, yet it didn't feel entirely like his emotion. Though, it wasn't altogether alien either. Taking a glance at the majestic creature, Harry had to wonder. Was he…?
"We need to get moving," a lyrical voice informed him. "If we wish to reach Ellesmera by tonight, that is."
…Oh. Right. The memories came flashing back. The Veil, Angela, Orrin and Irwin, Arya, and Eragon. And his dragon, his familiar whose contentment he now felt as if it were his own. And the colors that had surrounded everyone…the predominately pink shadows. What had they been?
"Mr. Black, are you listening?" No. He blinked, losing his train of thought. After gazing dazedly at his elven escort, he nodded. Harry absently brushed dust and dirt off his clothes. Shakily standing up, got his bearings together.
"We can get there by tonight?" He asked in a surprised tone.
Arya nodded. "If we start soon."
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-Break-
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Several days later
The duo and dragon traveled in a similar manner to the previous flight – that is to say, silently.
Harry stroked his familiar's scales as they walked, holding him in his arms. He'd wanted to keep the creature under the wards, but Arya had firmly ordered him not to. So he'd dropped the invisibility and secrecy wards. He hadn't been happy to, but he didn't want to offend his guide. Though he had placed glamours on his ears and complexion. They were round, and his skin was a more healthy pallor than it would otherwise be. He may have had a creature inheritance, but he was still human.
And for now, he focused on the small bundle in his arms, with a purple snout occasionally prodding his arm. It bounced with his steps as he walked, cradling the dragon in his arms. It was almost the same position as a baby…he froze mid-step.
How long had it been? Not just since he thought of him, but since he'd seen the last marauder-heir? Andromeda better be taking care of him. He knew she'd been less than thrilled about Tonks marrying Remus, but still. He was her grandson. All grandmothers had to love their grandsons, right?
A throat cleared, dragging him back to the present. In a secluded forest with only an irritable elf for company. Arya was waiting for him to pick up his pace. She wouldn't leave him behind, he was sure. Riders were near-extinct, as he'd gathered from his few days at the Burning Plains. But she didn't particularly like him, and it suited Lord Potter-Black just fine. Most didn't, and he'd been generous with the few who did. And Andromeda, but that was for Teddy.
A rustle sounded far off in the woods, putting his elven companion on edge. Harry had to smile: she didn't seem like one to put her emotions on display, so he had to treasure her few vulnerabilities.
The rustle never quite abated. It grew louder, and closer, foot by foot. It didn't seem threatening, but Arya had a hand on her bow nonetheless, and looked ready to draw an arrow.
The rustling stopped. A small head poked out and stared straight at the bow. "Hello," the head voiced.
Arya lowered the bow.
A child stepped out, her head still gazing at the bow. Standing about four feet tall, the girl had a long mane of copper hair. She was dressed similarly to Arya, and looked thoroughly lost.
"#Why's there a huuuman here?#" The girl queried, looking straight at Arya, who met her gaze. A smile curved around her delicate face.
"#He will stay in Ellesmera for some time, childe#." The elder responded. "#May I ask your name?#"
But the girl wasn't paying any attention. Her eyes were centered on the amethyst bundle in the human's arms. She moved further from the foliage, and took several steps towards the calm, human figure before he reacted.
Harry curled his arm further around the dragon – his dragon – before reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a wand. Unfortunately, the girl seemed unfazed by the action.
"Stay. Back," he growled out, his eyes narrowing on the youth. The words were familiar ones to him, words that he'd echoed before…
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Flashback
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"Stay. Back." What were they doing? No, that was obvious – they were here to arrest him. The question was, more importantly, why?
"Potter, just let the aurors do their job and this can go very smoothly." That was Kingsley. He'd be removed as Minister in a week – for being too close to him. The boy that, once a savior, would go the same way as his godfather. No, FOCUS!
The two aurors were moving, closing in on him. Dawlish, he remembered idly – it was the same twit who'd arrested (or at least tried) Dumbledore and Hagrid in fifth year. He'd also thrown one of the stunners at McGonagall, his mind blithely supplied. The other looked newer – probably some Slytherin graduate who'd escaped the Dark Mark, but still knew how to look after his own hide. His robes were expensive enough to mark him as one, at least.
But no, he would have none of that. Both of them were approaching him from the same direction, luckily.
"Expulso!" the spell rocketed downward towards their feet, exploding the Diagon Alley cobblestone and lodging shrapnel into their legs. They fired stunners, of course, but he'd started moving immediately after firing his own spell. Did they think he was stupid?
"Petrificus Totalus!" What? Where'd that come fr…bloody hell!
He spun out of the way, the body-binding curse missing him by mere inches. And standing there, wand outstretched, was a billowing mop of red hair. That backstabbing prick! He couldn't retaliate, though, because the other two aurors were getting a hold of themselves.
"Incendius!" "Oleum!" The fire and oil creation spells shot in front of the aurors, causing an immediate bonfire. The fiery column created a wall of sound, and he couldn't hear a thing from that end. There were screams and cries coming from the rest of Diagon Alley, though, and the goblins were rattling their sabers.
He spun around. There was still one nuisance that wasn't in danger.
"Immobulus!" "Furnunculus!" "Mobiliarbus!" Dazed, the redhead didn't even realize that he was being brought not to Harry, but into the fire. "Impervius!" the last spell hit him before he plunged in to the sea of orange flames.
It was the same color as the Weasley hair.
He took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. In, out. Over and over. And eventually, he was able to tear his eyes away from the sight. What, where now? Apparating was impossible. A glance at the goblins at the bank gave him their answer; the sabers were still rattling. All the doors to the Diagon Alley shops had closed, as the streetgoers had fled into them. The Leaky Cauldron was undoubtedly closed. But the one just a little bit down, the one with the U-No-Poo sign on the window, looked like it was still open. And Harry made his decision.
He sprinted down the cobblestone path and wrenched the door open. It couldn't refuse him – he was a part-owner. Completely ignoring the stunned visage of Lee Jordan, he made a beeline to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder.
"Number Four Grimmauld Place," he murmured. The flash of green flames, so diametrically opposite the ones that had claimed the three figures earlier, surrounded and entrapped him. They spun and licked and radiated heat, and he was spinning the opposite direction trying not to get sick or think about the events of minutes prior. And all too soon he was stumbling out of the fireplace, absently calling for Kreacher before he realized that the house-elf wasn't there anymore. He was dead, had been since just a week after the Final Battle. And Harry stopped wishing that the nuisance-turned-worshipper would show up, and settled down in the kitchen.
He didn't think for the rest of the day, just showered and ate and sat in the library. And eventually, he decided to sleep, since then he might be able to put his mind back together. So he retired to Sirius's old bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, asleep before his face hit the pillow.
Unknown to him, he'd be apprehended that night. All it would take the Ministry was Yaxley, who had sighted the house when they'd retrieved the locket from Umbridge the previous year, an auror willing to arrest him, and a bottle of Felix Felicis, confiscated from Slughorn's stores.
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End of Flashback
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"#I don't think I like him very much#," the childe murmured.
Arya observed the object of that statement. Black was stock-still. His eyes were lidded, and his mouth was twitching minutely with unspoken words that she couldn't decipher. He was in a defensive stance, one hand reaching into the other's sleeve. He'd been in that state for the past minute or so.
"Black!" He jolted, withdrawing his hand from his sleeve and pulling out a short, wooden stick with it. The other arm raised to rub his blinking eyes, and the man let out a soft groan.
"Yeah". It was uttered so softly, and not even as a question. His face turned to face her, and his visage started freezing in place, as if marble. He scarcely moved. "What?"
Raising an eyebrow, she cocked her head to the path. "We need to get going." Shifting to the childe at her feet, she bent down and asked, "#Would you like to come with us? We're going to the town#." There was no way that she would leave a child out here in the forest.
The girl stared back at Arya, big amber eyes scanning her own, before she looked at the outsider of the group. "#Stay with me, please?#"
Harry Black, newest Rider and accomplished wizard, grunted. This day was not fun. Actually, it was the antithesis of fun – a deluge of boring gruntwork.
First, the little elf eyes him warily, practically hiding behind Arya's skirt. (Metaphorically, only – he couldn't imagine his escort in one) She'd pace just a little bit faster than Arya, and would stare at him for a number of seconds. Or a minute. However long it took for him to notice and glance back. Then, she'd freeze and fall back into line with the elder elf who held the child's hand for the entire journey thus far.
And those amber eyes reminded him too much of what he had lost. They stared so fleetingly, like she was afraid of him as they had been afraid of Moony.
"Can you please not do that?" He groused. Her shoulders shuddered before she leaned forward to stare at him once more. His eyes met hers. Well, at least they weren't flicking up to check for that faded mark.
The little girl gulped, before mumbling something under her breath. He'd heard her, but he didn't understand her. What was she saying? What language? He'd only met Arya, as far as elves went, and she'd spoken in clear English. Sure, it was accented, but so was everyone's voice.
Now that he looked back on it, it seemed strange. Why would she speak English? Of course, she was an ambassador, so she'd need to know several languages…so perhaps the humans, whom he'd also spoken to, used it? What, then, did elves use?
Harry lifted his eyes from the girl to her hand-holder, and Arya met them. She said nothing, just inclined her head to the girl. Grumbling, he deigned to pose a question to his escort.
"What's her name?" He wondered aloud. Arya answered for him.
"Eryth"
He paused. "Eryth, would you like to come here?" He indicated his side as she peeked out from behind her hand-holder. The girl gave him a blank look and looked up to Arya, mumbling new words. Unsurprisingly, Arya answered in similar sounds. What language was this?
And then there was a prod at his waist. Eryth was looking up at him, amber eyes wide with wonder, finger just inches away from poking him again. With her brown hair swaying behind her, she looked just precious. And Harry cracked a small smirk before grasping a miniscule, delicate hand. The squeeze on his fingers reciprocated in magnitude.
The newly-formed trio continued to walk in near-silence.
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-Break-
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By the late evening, the elf, elfling, and rider had managed to reach Ellesmera. The trio had supped, and Eryth had sat closer to him during the meal. What had been with her? She'd insisted on holding his hand even after, and now a city was in coming into view. Ellesmera.
All that blocked Harry & Arya from the city was a single elf. He looked far older than Arya, and seemed perpetually bathed in a light. A circlet that had an uncanny resemblance to Ravenclaw's diadem – or what he remembered of it, at any rate – was adorned on his brow. And, to Harry's idle observation, his wrinkles rivaled that of Dumbledore.
The moment he was within sight, Arya began to stiffen considerably. Her brow lowered slightly, and she looked like she was sucking her emotions in – or, what little she demonstrated in the first place. Her posture, ever proper, grew to an aristocratic stature. Though he didn't dare look down, in case he gave the wrong impression to the elf, Harry suspected that her hands were fisting. She began glancing from side to side, and he had to wonder why his escort was acting so strangely now.
"Arya?" She turned her head at such a speed that Harry wondered of whip-lash. Her eyes focused on his, and there was an intensity to it.
He lifted an eyebrow, hoping it came across skeptically. "Are you all right?" He felt a squeeze on his hand; Eryth was glancing up at him, probably wondering what he had said.
He hadn't heard the child say anything comprehensible. And, he suspected, neither had she of him.
"Be as respectful as you can, Mr. Black." The words struck as strange note with him. Why was she being so insistent now?
"Not that I wouldn't try to normally, with strangers. Yet…oh, never mind." They were almost up to the strange elf, who stood solitary and mute.
"Mr. Black, show him your hand."
He turned fully to face her. "Why?" He lifted it up and held it up, so that the silvery oval faced her. "What's so important about this?"
She didn't reply. Merely, she grasped his hand – he almost flinched at the contact, and was certain that Arya, the elf, and possibly Eryth had detected movement – and wrenched it toward the elf before them.
And held it.
The elf smiled and closed his eyes. With that, the trio continued along the path into the city.
It was only then that Arya let go. And provided an opportune moment for Harry to blow up.
"Why did you do that? Who was that elf? And again, what's so important about this?" He flung his hand towards her, just stopping directly in her line of vision. "I don't mind that our relationship isn't the warmest one, but I'm stepping into what's clearly your territory. What, may I ask, are you not telling me that I should know?"
Even as he wound down, Harry felt tired. And hurt. Fighting wasn't fun. It wasn't even worth it, most of the time. He was in a strange place, with an array of subconscious fears that accompany new surroundings, and his one link to any sense of normalcy that he could ever have was being tight-lipped. And yet, she ignored his outburst.
His eyes glanced down to the child that still held his hand. He had to wonder which way it was working at the moment. "You still like me, don't you Eryth?" Her eyes pricked up at the name, and she gripped his hand comfortingly. At least, he thought so. For all he knew, this could be a polyjuice or a glamour type of appearance, but there were only so many worries that he could process at a time.
And there were certainly many new fears entering his conscious thoughts. When the paths narrowed and the roads became more populated, with structures surrounding them, some of the inhabitants were casting looks at the trio. Many glances went to the bundle that he cradled in one arm, who was poking his nose into open space just slightly. Numerous glances also went to his ears, which he'd kept under glamour since the trek began.
He realized that his ears were pointed, like an elf. He knew on an intellectual level. But there was no way that he would admit to it until he was comfortable with it himself.
Still others were drawn to Eryth. Harry looked around, and something odd came to him. Without Eryth, he wouldn't have noticed, but there were barely any children like her in sight. Why?
And still a few glances took in Arya's visage. Perhaps it was her position as Ambassador, he concluded. At any rate, he was more concerned with the souls that were approaching them.
One of them uttered several sounds. And the another, with slightly different sounds. And still others, with new sounds and phrases. And while none obstructed their path, Harry noticed that they were beginning to attract a crowd. The eyes were like arrows targeting the bundle in his arms, and the dragon chose that moment to squeak.
It felt like the world was falling away.
All he could see was more faces, more pointed ears, and hear more words, growing louder and louder. His breathing was growing shallow, and he didn't even realize it until a tug from Eryth drew him out of his reverie.
Arya was pulling up ahead, and Eryth was trying to drag him along at her pace. He sighed and relented, following her through the winding streets that he couldn't make sense of. He still lost her – quite easily, at that. But Eryth kept tugging him along, in routes that made him feel like he'd seen the same sights and elves three times over.
After ten minutes of extremely trying chants and crowds, they reached an odd-looking staircase.
They weren't cement, or tiles, or anything else recognizable. Wait, he knew what they were. Roots. Like those of a tree.
Eryth was already on the second step, poised on the third, and tugging his arm. He went along. Passing a door that looked like saplings, they came to a hall surrounded by trees.
Actually, everything had had a nature feel to it. Perhaps he had been too distracted to notice.
There was a long table ahead, with over a dozen empty chairs on each side. At the head stood a massive throne, upon which a woman was perched. She wore a crimson tunic, and she exuded elegance. Her eyebrows slanted up, projecting pride. She could have been the Queen of France, with her stature even while seated.
Arya was kneeling before him, head bowed. Clearly, she had been here for a short time already. And at once, she began standing up and straightening herself. She turned in between the woman and he, and spoke in the most formal tone he had ever heard in his life – including his arrest and trial.
"Presenting Mr. Harry Black, my Queen."
A white dove flew in at the words, in a silent mockery of the formality. No, he thought, it's not a dove. It looks like…a raven. But aren't ravens black?
"Wyrda!" The white raven fucking talked! He didn't know what it had said, but it fucking spoke in the same sounds as the other elves! What was this?
Distantly, a voice in his childhood school-years whispered "anthropomorphism", but he had to suppress a snort. What good was that, now?
It circled, before perching on the throne.
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"What brings this man here, my daughter?" The Queen spoke.
Daughter. Arya is royalty?
"Mr. Black is a Rider, Mother." Apparently, yes.
Arya approached him and reached for his free hand – when had Eryth let go? – when he wrenched it away.
"I'll ask again, Arya. What is so important about this?" The response, which was inevitable now with the Queen glancing in askance at her errant daughter, was less than reassuring.
He'd understood that Riders were rare, but he had not been informed that they could be counted on one hand. He didn't want to fight. He'd had enough of it. Sometimes, it was necessary. Like with Voldemort, who had marked him down for murder before he'd even been born. And independence was a so-called "human right", as he remembered it in the Muggle world.
But why did being a Rider automatically make him the frontline in a war he had no interest in?
Harry glanced down to the amethyst dragon in his arm. Because of him, he would be expected to fight in a war...yet he couldn't blame his familiar. He still loved the dragon, but he didn't want to fight because of him. Him. For some reason, the dragon seemed male in his eyes.
He hadn't given his familiar a name, he realized. But he knew it was male, and he, Harry Black, had to name him. Black. A star, maybe?
Oblivious to the two royal elves and the elfling by his side, he silently wondered. What kind of name? Astor? It didn't give him a good feeling. Plus, it had no meaning beyond "star". Praecipula? It was in Leo minor, which had Regulus. And it meant 'principal star'. But he still had a bad feeling about it.
He really wanted a meaning, more than anything. And the only thing he could think of at the moment was war.
"Antares" A warm feeling filled him. His familiar was Antares. Whatever happened, he'd still have his familiar, Antares.
A screech sprinted through the hallway, causing a splitting pain in his skull. It was coming from the satirical raven. But it was more than noise, they were sounds.
He had as much luck understanding them as he'd had with the other elves.
And at last, it stopped. "Wyrda!" the blased bird shouted.
When he opened his eyes again, he found two royal pairs of eyes trained on him. Neither gave anything away.
"What," he asked, "did it say? And what is it?"
"Blagden is a treasured part of Du Weldenvarden. He once saved the King, and in return was gifted with immortality, though it turned his feathers white. He predicts the future." Queen Islanzadi had chosen to answer, bypassing her daughter.
He lifted a single brow. "What did Blagden say?"
"I warn you, he always speaks in Riddles. However, he said the following:
Only Cold and Memories await
As Dog, and Deer,
Will the Wolf Follow
I believe he may be speaking in relation to you, but one cannot be certain."
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But Harry was growing pale all the same. No, it couldn't be. It can't happen. It CAN'T!...he's suffered enough. He shouldn't have to, he's too precious…
As he visibly worsened, the Queen commanded her daughter to perform a simple task. "Settle him in his lodgings. The residence next to Eragon's should suffice. We will reconvene in the morning."
But Blagden launched off the throne, dropping a single feather on his flight out. "Wyrda!" He proclaimed.
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End of Chapter
...Sorry it's taken me...four months to update this. I could list excuses, but I doubt anyone would care for them. So, I'll just move onto the reviews response, with the same guidelines as usual.
Hideout Writer: It was just the direction I decided to take.
Purple N Blue Wings: Creative license/plot hole. I just needed the journey to take a certain timeframe.
TenchiSaWada: You're free to move to new stories. However, I'm encouraged by the fact that you still read through and reviewed multiple chapters.
Oxnate: I'll address the magic-issue more in the next chapter. (He'll meet Oromis)
Ethorin: Not completely sure what you mean by Harry-bashing, but it could happen. The only question is creative license, i think.
zetca: don't worry. I'm just American, so I'm familiar with miles.
urfan: You're free to move to other stories if you don't like NWNH.
UniqueTeen: that would be telling! I can't do that :)
jmsdragn: Sorry. I haven't found a good way to insert scene breaks. Do you know one?
For anyone else: Thank you for reviewing. I've just wanted to keep the word count low (thanks to feedback I've consistently received) within chapters, since I've previously spent up to 700 words in reviews alone. I have read your comments - multiple times. And I'm taking them to heart and into consideration.
